


The Longest Way Round (Is the Shortest Way Home)

by billiethepoet



Series: Proximity and Separation Series [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billiethepoet/pseuds/billiethepoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry moves to Fitton, which opens up a (mostly self-created) host of problems for Martin. In order to move their relationship forward, they must work through chronic miscommunication and self-confidence issues. But the rewards are worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longest Way Round (Is the Shortest Way Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to chess_ka for her beta and Brit picking skills.

The key turns the lock easily. Martin bumps the door open with his hip, trying to keep a plastic shopping bag and his overnight bag balanced in his arms. He passes Henry’s office, what was once the blue sitting room at the front of the house, and stops in the doorway. Henry’s already up from his desk and coming to greet him.

“You’re early.” Henry looks tired despite his smile. _Tired, but nice. Very nice, in fact._ Henry’s wearing a black vest and old, well-fitted jeans. His bare toes dig into the rug as he stops in front of Martin. 

Martin leans in for a quick kiss, shifting his bags back to make room for Henry. “Yeah, we were ahead of schedule for once. I thought I’d surprise you. I picked up something for dinner.” 

“I’m almost finished here.” Henry rubs a hand over his short hair, moving back to his desk. “Then I promise, I’m all yours for the weekend.” 

Martin starts down the hall to the kitchen. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he calls out, thinking about the stretch and pull of the muscles in Henry’s bare arms. Martin’s stomach flutters thinking about those arms and the ways they could wrap around him, hold him up, or pin him down. 

It’s been almost three weeks since they’ve been able to see each other. MJN’s business has picked up, which is great for Carolyn’s bank account but not so much for Martin’s, and Henry’s been turning out more design projects for his freelance job in Bristol. They’ve managed the long distance relationship for almost nine months now, but three weeks is one of the longest stretches they’ve gone without seeing each other. Martin was such a loner before, so isolated. A year ago, he never would have believed that three weeks without spending time with one single person would be so hard. It was uncomfortable in a way that solitude had never been uncomfortable for Martin before. Like being a little bit hungry all the time, or wanting desperately to do something but not knowing what that something is. 

But that’s over for now. Martin’s in Dartmoor, staying with Henry, for a long weekend where they have absolutely nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company. Henry has promised there will be no work this weekend, which will be a welcome change. Martin’s not upset that Henry puts in a lot of time at his job; he’s happy that Henry found fulfilment in his work. Everyone should have that, but Henry needed it so much more. And it’s not like Martin doesn’t work more than he should, between flying and removals. All the same, it will be nice to have a weekend to themselves. 

Martin’s thinking about how he and Henry will while away the weekend when Henry finds him in the kitchen putting the shopping away. He doesn’t hear Henry approach until Henry’s arms come around his waist. Henry often sneaks up on Martin like this, but Martin’s careful not to do the same. Especially at night. Martin will jump and laugh when Henry surprises him but Henry’s genuinely scared each time Martin’s accidentally startles him. And it’s fine. Making sure your ridiculously handsome, truly lovely boyfriend hears you enter the room isn’t a hardship to bear. Even if he likes sneaking up on you. 

“Did you come all this way just to feed me up?” Henry teases.

“Not just to feed you up.” Martin grasps Henry’s wrists where they are locked in front of him. He sighs when Henry presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Missed you.”

Henry smiles and kisses his neck again. “I missed you too. It was a long three weeks.” He gives Martin a squeeze before letting his arms drop away. 

“A busy three weeks anyway. They are really giving you a lot of work lately.” Martin drops a packet of chocolate biscuits on the countertop and turns to face Henry. He’s not upset about Henry’s work schedule. He may be a bit put out if they’re taking advantage of Henry’s contractor status, but he’s not upset. Really. That would be hypocritical. But three weeks of not seeing each other and hurried, late night phone calls has worn a bit thin. 

“Yeah, it has been busy.” Henry rubs a hand across the back of his neck and looks down at his feet. “But it’s been good. I’ve done a lot of good work.” He looks back up and smiles. “It was sort of a test really.”

Martin’s pulse picks up. He’s never liked tests; they were just an opportunity to fail. “A test?” Martin squeaks out, suddenly aware of all the ways he could have failed a test from Henry. Had he been making sure Martin could go without seeing him for a few weeks? Did he need more space? Had Martin been smothering him?

“The firm wanted to see if I could pick up the pace. They’ve offered me a permanent position.” He pauses and Martin realizes the test had been Henry’s, and one Henry had passed, with a surge of relief. “In Bristol.” 

_In Bristol_ echos in Martin’s suddenly very empty feeling head. Henry would be so much closer to him. They could see each other all the time. He could be with Henry as much as he wanted if he were in Bristol. 

Henry’s still talking but Martin’s missed most of what he’s said. He pushes thoughts of lazy Sundays and midweek dinner dates from his mind in time to hear the end of Henry’s increasingly nervous sounding sentence. “ - don’t have to live in Bristol.” 

“What?” The dreams of having Henry so close come crashing down at once. “You’d stay here? Or not take the job at all?” 

“No!” Henry’s face goes white very fast. “No, I meant, maybe I could move to Fitton with you.” 

“In my attic?” Martin knows he sounds confused and maybe a bit panicked but he can’t help himself. He’s gone from visions of Henry living less than an hour away, to Henry willfully turning down a job that would bring him closer to Martin, to Henry living in his terrible attic in less than two minutes. 

“I just meant that I could move to Fitton but work in Bristol. Do you want me to move into your attic?” Henry sounds just as confused as Martin feels.

He thinks about being cramped in his attic flat with Henry. Henry, who will go to his posh job in Bristol everyday and leave Martin to haul boxes or fly a plane for no compensation, doesn’t deserve to be trapped in Martin’s horrid little bedsit. He could have so much more. Should have so much more. 

He laughs nervously, “God no. My flat is terrible.” He hopes that Henry doesn’t see how desperately he’s trying to cover the familiar sense of unworthiness tensing the muscles of his back. 

Henry’s smile is back, stretched from ridiculous ear to ridiculous ear, so Martin knows he must have covered that moment of self-doubt well. “Good. Not that your flat’s terrible. I really don’t think it is, but I was thinking we could get a new flat. Together.” 

“Oh,” Martin breathes out, fast and shocked. “You meant that you’d move to Fitton and we’d get a new place together?” 

“Yeah. I thought... if you wanted, we could... Or I could get my own place in Fitton or even in Bristol if you’d like...” Henry’s voice trails off and he’s looking down at his feet again. Martin can see the old insecurities Henry drags around inside himself welling up. 

He rushes to reassure Henry. “No! No. I want you in Fitton. Bristol would be fine but Fitton would be fantastic.” Martin takes a deep breath and grasps Henry’s hands. “It’s just that moving in together... it’s a very big thing. I just don’t want to rush it.” That’s not the reason at all. Martin would be happy and proud to move his meager belongs in with Henry’s, but he knows that he can’t afford to split the rent and expenses on the kind of flat Henry will want. The kind of flat Henry deserves, really. 

Henry squeezes his hands. “Okay, I know it’s a bit unexpected but you’ll at least think about it, right?” Martin nods, not trusting himself to speak without blurting out that all he wants is to pick a place with Henry and live there every day and night until he’s old and grey. Martin’s still holding Henry’s hand, still thinking about their imaginary flat, when Henry squeezes again. “Do you want me to make dinner?” 

Martin laughs, a bit in relief for the change in conversation and a bit at Henry himself. “No, I’d rather escape the weekend without food poisoning, thank you very much.” 

“I can’t poison you with lasagne!” 

“No, but you could try.” 

***************  
Hours later, after the washing up, a round of spectacular sex, and a movie, Martin’s awoken by Henry moving in his sleep. He’s not thrashing, not yet, but he is making shallow kicks with his legs and whimpering. Martin pushes himself up on one elbow. Sometimes Henry can bring himself out of this and go back to sleeping peacefully. Martin doesn’t mind watching over him and waking him if necessary. It’s nice to be the one to offer comfort, to feel needed, for a change. 

Henry’s legs pick up speed, kicking in wider arcs. Martin sits up on his knees to avoid getting kicked. That’s when Henry starts to scream. It’s always a genuinely terrified, scared for your life sounding scream and it makes Martin panic every time he hears it. He tries to wake Henry before the screaming starts but this time it was too fast. Martin shakes his shoulder and calls his name to pull him out of it. 

Henry’s screams quiet to sobs, which hurt Martin more to listen to. He can deal with Henry’s fear, because he knows there’s nothing to be afraid of, but the overwhelming sadness and shame that Henry feels after his night terrors can’t be dealt with at all. Martin hugs him close, tucking Henry’s face against his stomach. Martin rubs circles along Henry’s back and shoulders, murmuring soothing nonsense. 

When his crying is down to controllable sniffles, Henry tugs on Martin’s hips. “Come down here.” 

Martin unspools his legs and lies facing Henry, one pale arm wrapped around Henry’s waist. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Henry rests his hand on the side of Martin’s face. 

Martin smiles, enjoying the warmth from Henry’s hand seeping into his neck and jaw. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s fine.” Martin’s learned over the months they’ve been spending the night together not to ask if Henry wants to talk about it or what he was dreaming about. It’s always the same nightmare and talking doesn’t make it any better. Henry apologizes every time and Martin tries to convince him that he doesn’t have to. 

Henry pulls Martin forward and kisses him. “Thanks anyway.” 

Martin kisses him again, just a dry press of lips. “Any time. Ready to go back to sleep?” He leaves their foreheads resting together. 

“Not yet. But you can, if you’re tired. I’ll be fine.” 

Martin shakes his head, his unruly fringe rubbing against Henry’s shorter hair. “I won’t leave you.” 

It’s not long before Martin’s moving over Henry, moving in Henry, and spilling out _I love you I love you so much always will love you oh god love you_ against his ear. Henry’s cries and sobs are much more welcome this time. How could Martin have ever thought he could have Henry in the same city and not go to bed with him every night, not wake up with him every morning, not be there for all his nightmares? Martin finally falls asleep, Henry pressed tight and hot against him, thinking of their flat in Fitton and what he has to do to get there. 

***************  
At the airfield on the following Tuesday, Martin corners Carolyn in the portacabin.

“No, absolutely not. Is this going to become a regular thing? You begging for a salary? Should I mark it on my calendar under “Days Not to Talk to My Ungrateful Pilots Even if They Beg Me”?” She sounds so flippant, like this isn’t the perfect solution to Martin’s domestic situation. 

“Carolyn, I know we’ve had an uptick in jobs lately and I think that that increase in work warrants a second look at our agreement.” He’s practiced his first line of defense against her inevitable negative response. He rehearsed the whole conversation three times driving from Dartmoor to Fitton at the end of his much needed weekend with Henry. 

“I have taken a second look. And that’s all the looks I intend to take. It’s not possible ,Martin.” Carolyn adds a note of finality to his name but he’s prepared for this and is not going to let her get away so easily.

Martin rushes ahead, his voice coming out high and squeaky. “But...but with all the extra trips...”

“I’ll only say this once more, Martin. The revenue from our rather-more-full-than-usual docket goes to keeping GERTI in the air, not to the care and maintenance of her pilots.They aren’t extra, they are necessary trips.”

She’s gone before Martin can pull out another practiced line meant to sway her. They’re on standby so Martin spends the rest of the afternoon using MJN’s computer to look for new jobs. There’s nothing promising. 

When he gets home, Henry’s already there. He’s staying with Martin for a few days while he searches for a flat in Fitton. He’s laid out on Martin’s lumpy, worn out sofa-bed, shirtless, reading a book. Dust floats through the beams of sunlight shining on Henry from the tiny attic window and Martin thinks, no, Martin _knows_ that this is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. And he could come home to it everyday if he could just find a way to come up with the money. He can do this. He knows he can. He can do it for them. 

“Hello, love.” Martin sets his flight bag next to the door before stepping fully into the attic.

Henry puts his book to the side, not bothering to mark the page. “Hello. How was your day of sitting around?” 

“Dreadful.” Martin clambers on top of Henry, suddenly very relieved that he is here. He keeps one leg resting on the ground so he doesn’t crush Henry completely and buries his face in Henry’s shoulder. “How was your day?”

“I did my fair share of sitting around. First on the train, then in a taxi to your flat, and since then right here on the sofa.” 

“Was it dreadful?” Martin asks, his voice muffled because his lips are pressed to the side of Henry’s neck.

Martin shakes a bit as Henry laughs beneath him. “No, but your sofa’s a bit dreadful.” 

Martin raises himself up on one arm and lands a playful smack against Henry’s arm. “Don’t insult my perfectly fine sofa-bed. And why are you shirtless anyway? You’re incapable of keeping your clothes on.” It’s a trait in Henry Martin’s never been able to understand. His first inclination is to hide his body away, to tuck the pale skin, freckles, and awkward proportions under fabric unless absolutely necessary. Henry leaves his arms and legs bare almost every day and strips his torso to the skin whenever he has the chance. Not that he shouldn’t. Henry’s body is muscular and firm. He definitely has plenty to be proud of there.

“Is that a complaint?” Henry wraps his arms around Martin’s shoulders, pulling Martin back down on top of him. Henry presses a kiss to the shell of Martin’s ear. 

“Nope. Not complaining. Never complaining. Unless you take to walking around outside shirtless where other people can stare at you. Then we may have to reevaluate.” 

Henry laughs, “Only on holiday. Promise.” Another quick kiss is placed just below Martin’s jaw. “It’s just so hot in here. All the time. Why is Fitton so hot?” 

Martin groans. “Is this going to be another weather related argument for the superiority of Devon? You’re moving here. You need to adjust.” 

Henry pushes him up, still laughing, and rises from the sofa. He makes his way to his suitcase, which takes up a large corner of Martin’s living space. “Let’s order something for dinner. You don’t have anything in.” The combination of seeing Henry pull a very nice (expensive) shirt from his very large (expensive) suitcase and knowing that the only food he has in the tiny shared kitchen are Pot Noodles and an old onion is too much. He stays seated on the lumpy sofa while Henry tugs the shirt over his head, as if he doesn’t care about stretching it out or popping the buttons at the collar. At Martin’s continued silence Henry adds, “Aren’t you hungry? Do you want to get a takeaway?” The menus Martin had started keeping on the table by the door are already in his hand. 

Martin smiles, vowing to settle his worries for the night. _Just concentrate on having a nice night with Henry and worry about it tomorrow. There’s nothing to be done tonight._ This succeeds in taking Martin’s anxiety from just below national disaster level to slightly above manageable without prescription medication for the average person. He can handle this.

The takeaway is good, but the company is better. It feels comfortable and domestic, even if they are sleeping on Martin’s dreadful pull-out sofa-bed. Henry’s slept there dozens of times over the past nine months but it feels different now, inadequate. Because Martin knows Henry’s going to go out tomorrow and find himself a much better place to live in Fitton. He’s thinking of all the more suitable places Henry could live, fingers idly drawing patterns on Henry’s stomach and head resting on Henry’s chest, when Henry speaks. His voice is rough and sleepy. “Will you go with me to meet the letting agent tomorrow afternoon?”

Martin has a van job in the morning, hastily booked in his panic over funds, but he’s free in the afternoon. He nods, spreading his curls further across Henry’s chest. Martin falls asleep with a ball of lead in his stomach. 

****************  
Martin meets Henry and the letting agent at the first flat. She’s a smartly dressed blonde woman, who looks like she has every aspect of her life in perfect order, and Martin is immediately resentful. He’s still covered in sweat and grime from his morning moving job and his van sounds as if it could break down before he has a chance to shut off the engine. 

She takes them through the first flat. It’s big, three bedrooms, and really more like half a house than a flat. It’s in a nice neighborhood and the rent is several times what Martin pays for his attic. Henry is all smiles as the letting agent, Rebecca, walks them through the recently remodelled kitchen to one of the bedrooms. It has floor to ceiling windows looking out to a small garden. Henry and Rebecca are talking about how the lighting makes this room perfect for a studio for Henry’s work. Martin agrees. He can picture Henry in this room, sitting at a gigantic drafting desk, working away. He only sees himself in his run down van and shabby attic flat. 

Following Rebecca to the next flat, Henry asks Martin what he thinks of the place they’ve just viewed. Martin thinks it’s lovely, exactly the kind of bright and clean place Henry that would fit perfectly in. 

“It’s big,” Martin lets out. He’s not sure what else to say about a place that looks so perfect wrapped around his boyfriend when he’s never even hoped of living somewhere so nice. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely more room than I need for myself,” Henry says, pointedly. Martin ignores the comment and keeps his eyes locked on the road. 

The second flat, and the third, are more of the same. Recently renovated, with high white ceilings and fresh carpets, and both on friendly, tree-lined streets. When they return to Martin’s attic, he hates the sight of it. It looks so small, so diminished, compared to the places he’s seen with Henry. While Henry’s in the shower, Martin returns two calls about van jobs for the upcoming weekend. If he works hard, he might be able to do this. He can take more jobs, save up some money, and be able to move in with Henry. 

Martin has to fly to Brazil on Thursday and won’t be back until Saturday morning, and he’s just book a van job dangerously close to his expected return. They eat beans on toast, at Henry’s insistence, and watch a movie on Henry’s laptop before falling asleep on the sofa-bed. They have an early flight time in the morning and Martin leaves Henry sleeping peacefully when he goes to meet the cab that will take him to the airfield. 

Henry texts Martin every time he views a new flat with Rebecca. He tells Martin about the amenities, the space, what furniture he could use. Martin is thankful to be missing the majority of the flat hunting but finds himself daydreaming about what it would be like to flat hunt with Henry. To really be looking for a place with him instead of just being the third wheel between Henry and Rebecca, the posh letting agent. The stab of longing that hits Martin’s chest when he imagines Henry and himself picking a place together nearly knocks him flat. 

When Martin lands in Fitton on Saturday morning, he’s running a bit behind schedule. Henry’s out viewing flats with Rebecca when Martin stumbles into his attic room, already unbuttoning his uniform shirt. He misses Henry, misses the easy camaraderie they have created over the course of their relationship before all this moving mess came to call, but he’s relieved he doesn’t have to face him just yet. Martin stumbles over the ever-increasing pile around Henry’s suitcase when he tries to retrieve the van keys from his tiny bookshelf. The slow spread of Henry’s permanent existence in Martin’s shabby life seems ill-fitting and awkward. It’s not the seamless joining Martin had imagined, that he had wanted. But the only way clear that Martin can see is to pull himself up to Henry’s level, to be able to afford half the flat that Henry wants. 

***************  
The next week is filled with Martin taking any removal job he can find, a short hop in GERTI to Brussels and back, and listening to Henry wax and wane on potential flats. Martin listens, his stomach knotting, while Henry tries to make a decision. At night, he loves Henry with his hands, his mouth, his cock, any way he can, pouring out his anxieties and misgivings, trying to give them over to Henry to heal without using words. Henry hasn’t had a nightmare since arriving in Fitton, which is a long stretch of peaceful sleep for him, but Martin’s not sleeping well. He tosses and turns, sometimes pushing Henry away and sometimes drawing him closer. 

He’s exhausted, not just because of the poor sleep, but because he’s been taking van jobs every chance he can get. His arms and back are sore and he’s barely seen Henry in the light of day. It’s that exhaustion wearing him down when Henry says, over a takeaway curry, “I think I’ve picked a flat. Will you come look at it in the morning?”

Martin knows it’s not some sort of door slamming shut on their relationship, but it feels like it. He hasn’t gathered enough money to even think about moving in with Henry and he’s realized that he can’t keep up this pace of work, especially if MJN gets another spurt of heavy business. He swallows the lump in his throat, his own failure sinking down with it. “Where’s your new flat going to be?” 

“It’s only a few streets away. I decided I wanted something close to you.” Henry pauses, takes a drink from his water glass. Martin can tell he’s been working himself up to something by the way the tips of his ears go pink. “It doesn’t have to be my new flat, you know. Not mine alone.” 

Martin turns his face away and the attic is quiet for a few moments. He doesn’t want to look at Henry, can’t face him right now. Martin makes himself breathe in and out, in and out again, steadily before he responds. “Henry,” his voice cracks, “I can’t. Not yet.” 

“Okay, okay.” Henry’s repeating from the other corner of the sofa, sounding a bit lost. 

Martin can’t bear to leave him sounding like that. He faces Henry and quickly leans across the sofa to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Not yet. But I’ll get there, I promise. Soon. Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Henry sounds, looks, unhappy but he doesn’t push Martin away when he kisses him again. That’s something at least. 

That night it’s Henry that offers physical comfort - or maybe he’s taking it. Martin’s not really sure. But with Henry spooned behind him, one arm wrapped around his hips and the other around his chest to hold him in place against the slow, leisurely thrusts, he’s not sure he cares. Martin bites his own wrist to keep from waking the rest of the house when he finally comes. 

***************  
The flat is must less impressive than Martin was expecting. It’s smaller, much smaller, than the first few Henry looked at. It’s technically two bedrooms, but the second room is so small that it will barely hold Henry’s drafting desk. Rebecca looks less than impressed as well.

“What do you think?” Henry’s smile is bright and Martin can almost forget the tension that’s been rolling through their relationship for the past two weeks. 

Martin looks at the freshly painted, but still dingy walls, and at the newish, but not stainless steel and gleaming, appliances in the tiny kitchen. “It’s...different than the first flats you looked at.” 

Henry walks crosses the room to stand next to Martin. His voices is quiet when he replies. “Yeah well, I thought it would be better if I was in your neighborhood. Closer to your flat for convenience.” 

He’s so selfish that the first thing that strikes him is gratitude. He wants Henry to be close, as close as he can be, and his heart feels like it may burst when Henry shows he wants that too. But he’s dragging Henry down to this mediocre flat on the dodgy end of Fitton instead of the clean and bright places he could be living, where he should be living. He both wants and doesn’t want Henry to do this for him. 

Henry and Rebecca retire to the kitchen, where the breakfast bar looks out into the small living room so Martin can watch them, to talk about the details of the contract. Rebecca will work with the landlord to get the appropriate paperwork drawn up and Henry will sign on Monday. 

Martin is silent on the walk home. Henry’s new flat is close, less than 10 minutes on foot, but Martin can’t help thinking he’s compromising too much. 

Henry waits until they’re back in Martin’s flat, door tightly closed against the rest of the house, to start the conversation that’s so close to boiling over. 

“You don’t like it.” Henry’s voice is quiet and even. 

Martin sits on the sofa and pushes his face into the palms of his hands. “It’s not that I don’t like it.” He takes a deep breath, knowing he’s about to launch into the argument that’s been building since Henry first mentioned moving to Fitton. “I just think you could have chosen...a nicer flat.” He manages to pull his face out of his hands just in time to see Henry open his mouth to object. Martin pushes on, cutting off Henry’s rebuttal before he can get it off his lips. “I know you want to be close to me. I like that. I do, really. It’s very flattering. I don’t think anyone has ever picked a place to live based on proximity to me. Maybe based on how far away they could get, but never how close. But I’m so happy that you want to live close to me, live with me if I could --”

“Martin!” Henry cuts off his string of growing inanity. “I don’t care how nice the flat is. I don’t care if it’s a bit run down or small or... or anything else. I just want to be near you!” Henry’s voice has gone high pitched and squeaky at the end. It’s the voice that comes out when he’s afraid, off-kilter and unsure of himself. It’s been months since Martin’s heard it, outside of the occasional nightmare, and it cracks his heart to hear it again. He hates for that voice to come out when it’s his fault. Henry heaves a deep breath, not quite a sob but close enough. Martin’s up from the sofa and across the room before Henry has a chance to breathe again. 

He wraps his arms around Henry, bringing Henry’s head to rest against his neck. “I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry.” Martin’s hands run along the ridge of Henry’s shoulders. “I do like your flat. I do like it. I just don’t want you to give things up for me.” 

“I’m not giving anything up for you.” Henry lifts his head away from Martin. “I’m changing things for us. Doing things differently for us. But it’s not giving anything up.” His voice is calmer now but still not back to its normal pitch. “The whole reason I worked so hard to impress the firm in Bristol with my designs was to be closer to you and... and... and I feel like you don’t want me here. I know you do, but knowing it and feeling it aren’t the same.” 

Martin kisses his face and whispers, “I’m so sorry. I love you. Of course I want you here. I want to be with you all the time. I’m sorry. I love you” over and over again until Henry calms. 

Henry has another nightmare that night, whimpering and throwing the cushions from the sofa-bed. Martin holds him tight and doesn’t ask what’s wrong. 

***************  
It’s nearly a week before Martin can get time away from MJN and his removals to drive with Henry to Dartmoor. They load some furniture, including Henry’s unwieldy drafting desk, and a few boxes of books and photos into the van. Henry made Martin go shopping for a bed with him earlier in the week. Martin laid beside him on pristine show mattresses and tried not to turn bright red when Henry asked if he thought the bed was big enough, firm enough, or what kind of headboard he’d like best. The bed is already set up in the otherwise empty flat; Henry had even convinced him to test it out more thoroughly once they got it home. To Henry’s home, not his. 

It’s well into the evening before the van’s unloaded, the furniture arranged, and the boxes stacked in the rooms matching their labels. Martin sits in one of Henry’s sturdy kitchen chairs, after dragging the table across the flat for the third time and back to the where they originally set it. 

Henry stands across the flat and chews his bottom lip, arms crossed low on his torso. “Do you think that’s where it should go? Or did it make more sense to have it closer to the kitchen?” 

“I think that I’m exhausted and you should probably sleep on it before we move the table again.” Martin props an elbow on the tabletop and rests his head in his hand. “You are one of the most demanding clients I’ve ever had and you aren’t even paying!” He laughs, eyes closed and fingers curled in his fringe. 

Martin’s eyes stay closed and his breathing drops low and even. He’s falling asleep propped against the table. He jolts up, eyes snapping wide, when Henry sinks between his spread knees and Henry’s hands slide across the tops of his thighs. Those hands keep his legs pinned when he startles awake. 

“I could repay you some other way.” Henry’s teasing and smiling broadly. 

Martin’s driven to Dartmoor, loaded a van, driven to Fitton, unloaded a van, and then lugged a table to and fro across Henry’s tiny flat all in the course of the day. He’s too tired to do anything but turn red across his cheeks and sputter. “You... you don’t have to. It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to...”

Henry hushes him. “I spent all day watching my ridiculously handsome boyfriend haul boxes and heft tables. Believe me, I want to.” His hands are already undoing the flies of Martin’s well worn jeans and dipping into the open waist. 

Martin leans back, letting his eyes fall shut again, as Henry pulls him from his pants. He licks and sucks gently until Martin is fully hard. As Henry picks up speed and swallows him down, Martin’s hands cup the back of Henry’s head. Martin opens his eyes and moans in his throat as he watches Henry’s head bob up and down his cock. He scratches his nails through the short hair on the back of Henry’s skull. His thumbs caress over Henry’s ears. Martin tries to keep his hips from bucking forward but it’s getting more difficult to control as Henry sucks harder. 

One of Henry’s hands pulls off Martin’s thigh and unzips his own flies. Martin watches the arc of Henry’s arm as he strokes himself and sucks Martin at the same time. 

“Ahhh...Henry!” Martin’s hips push forward when he cries out. Henry tightens his grip on Martin’s thigh, his other hand stroking himself quickly. He does his best to nod around Martin’s cock in his mouth. Martin’s hands press Henry’s head down, his hips buck up again, and he comes with Henry swallowing around him.

Henry lets Martin’s cock pop from his mouth and surges up so that he is bent over Martin’s seated form. He presses his lips to the top of Martin’s head and strokes out his own orgasm over Martin’s softening cock and exposed abdomen. They stay like that, leaning against one another, until Henry’s breathing returns to normal and Martin’s almost asleep in his chair. 

Henry pulls him up, holding the open waist of his jeans away from the mess coating his stomach and lower. “Come on, come to bed,” Henry says, pulling him toward the bedroom. 

Martin starts to protest, his exhaustion and loose muscles making it an unconvincing attempt. “I have... work. Van jobs tomorrow.” He yawns, breaking the last word into two.

“And I’ll have you up and ready for them. Promise.” Henry stops his slow progression leading Martin to his bedroom. “Please stay. It’s Saturday night, my first real night in my new flat, and I want you to stay over.” 

Martin looks at him, bleary eyed and falling asleep. Henry’s lips are plump and red and his ears are flushed. Martin leans forward and kisses those swollen lips. “Okay, I’ll stay.” 

Henry smiles and kisses him back. “Thank you.” He pulls back and leads Martin forward his trousers. “But shower first. You’re a mess.” 

“Only if you’re going to hold me up under the spray.” Martin’s voice is gruff in response to Henry’s light teasing. 

“Oh, I think I can manage that.”  
***************  
Martin wakes, naked, in a familiar bed but in an unfamiliar flat. Henry had herded him into the shower late the night before, toweled him dry, and then tumbled him into the sheets. That’s the last thing Martin remembers about how he got to bed. He’s not sure what time it is and Henry is nowhere to be seen. He can hear music coming from beyond the bedroom door. 

Martin rolls out of bed and pulls on his jeans. He has no idea where his pants have gone and his shirt smells atrocious. He finds Henry in the kitchen, in nothing but his pants, cooking a full breakfast. 

He coughs loudly enough to be heard over the music so he’s sure Henry knows he’s coming before he wraps his arms around Henry from behind. “And when did you sneak out to get food?” The bacon and eggs smell heavenly.

“While you were dead to the world.” Henry tilts his head back so he can kiss Martin on the side of the mouth. “Joining me in shirtlessness today? I knew you’d come to see it my way.” 

“So you, what? Snuck out of bed this morning, got dressed, went to the shops, then came back and undressed to cook breakfast?” Martin is giggling like he absolutely cannot believe this ridiculous man. Or that this ridiculous man is his. 

“I told you, it’s hot. Especially in the kitchen.” Henry turns, breaking Martin’s hold, and playfully pushes at his hips. “Get some plates.” 

Martin turns first to an empty cupboard but realizes that Henry is motioning to an open box on the crowded counter top. Martin finds plates, silverware, and mugs for tea. He rinses them in the sink while Henry finishes at the hob. It’s a nice, domestic feeling, to be here with Henry like this. It’s almost what they do when Martin travels to Dartmoor for a weekend, or when Henry would visit him in Fitton, but now it’s not just for the weekend. Henry lives here now. Martin could wake up to this everyday, if he could just come up with the money. 

“I have two van jobs today,” Martin says, reminded of what he’s doing so that he can be with Henry all the time. “A short one at 10 in the morning and a bigger one starting at noon.” 

“Two jobs? So I won’t see you much today.” Henry accentuates his disappointment by loudly clicking off the hob. 

“Sorry, love.” Martin is sorry, truly. He’d rather be spending the day with Henry. “I couldn’t turn them down.” He feels a bit pathetic adding that part but he wants to finally be honest.

Henry adds a generous helping of bacon to Martin’s plate. “Well, tuck in then. You’ll need it.” 

***************  
Henry was right. Martin did need all the help he could get. The first job went smoothly, just moving a few boxes and flat pack furniture from one flat to another for some college girls. The second job took much longer and the furniture was much heavier. He’s just collapsed on his rubbish sofa when his phone chirps with a text from Henry. 

**From: Henry Knight**

**Come round for dinner? Promise I won’t poison you. :)**

Martin smiles. This is definitely a benefit to having Henry so close. 

**To: Henry Knight**

**Shower and then be right over. I can cook, if you like. Not sure I trust you.**

Martin’s already in the shower when Henry’s indignant reply arrives. He’s showered, changed, and to Henry’s door in under half an hour. He could get used to this. It definitely beats the drive to Dartmoor. 

He stops at Henry’s door, unsure if he should knock or use the key Henry gave him. He wouldn’t hesitate if this were Henry’s home in Dartmoor. He’d unlock the door and stroll right in, but the flat is still too new, too unknown. Martin strokes his thumb across the shiny new key in his palm. No time like the present. 

When he shuts the door behind him, Henry pokes his head around the kitchen doorway, smiling widely. “Hello! I’m doing a roast with potatoes.” He ducks back into the kitchen as quickly as he had appeared. 

Martin leans against the doorway, arms and back sore from the day’s exertions, and watches Henry. “Breakfast and dinner? You’ve gone all domestic on me.” 

Henry laughs. “Yeah, well, don’t expect it everyday. And if I’m cooking, you’re doing the washing up.” Henry’s easy smile, his laughter, his teasing, are all things Martin takes comfort in. It means Henry feels happy and safe, which is the most Martin can give him. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Henry and smiling tiredly, until a plate of over-cooked roast and potatoes is thrust into his hands. 

“Don’t you dare.” Henry warns and pushes him toward the kitchen table. The table remains, thankfully, in its position near the kitchen and Henry doesn’t look keen to move it. Martin’s happy to skip commenting on the dryness of the roast, or how squishy the potatoes feel in his mouth, just to be with Henry. Despite Henry’s earlier warning, they do the washing up together. They bump elbows surrounded by comfortable silence in Henry’s small kitchen. 

They attempt to watch a movie, curled together on Henry’s sofa, but Martin’s fast asleep before the opening scene plays out. His exhaustion keeps him under through car chases, explosions, and one scene with a plane crash that he would have loved to complain loudly about. Henry nudges him awake toward the end of the credits. 

“Didn’t like the movie?” Henry teases and kisses his temple. 

Martin scrambles up from where his upper body has slumped across Henry’s arm and chest. “How is your arm not asleep? Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Martin stretches, muscles protesting and shoulder joints popping.

Henry turns off the television and wraps his arm around Martin’s shoulder. “It’s fine. You’re better company when you’re unconscious anyway.” 

Martin snuggles into Henry’s shoulder. “Oh, ha bloody ha.” 

Henry kisses the curls of his fringe and chuckles. “Don’t feel bad about falling asleep. We can see each other every day now. If you want.” His laughter dies away and his voice is quiet, unsure, at the end. 

Martin pulls back just enough to raise his head and make eye contact with Henry. “Of course I want to see you every day.” He kisses Henry lightly on the lips, Henry following Martin with his mouth to prolong the kiss when Martin pulls away. “Well, every day that I’m in Fitton. I’ll be flying some days, hopefully many days. Not that I hope to be away from you for many days! It’s just that I love to fly and it’s good for MJN if we’re busy and...” 

Henry kisses him again, longer this time but just as soft. “I know, love. I know what you mean.” Their lips come together again and they spend several minutes wrapped in lazy kisses and firm, warm touches. It’s Henry that breaks their embrace. “It’s late. Come to bed.” 

Martin stills and looks away from Henry. “I should go back to mine.” 

“What? Why?” Martin’s still looking away but can hear the confusion and hurt in Henry’s voice. 

Martin does a fair job of keeping voice level. He knew this was coming, he’d prepared for it. It was going to come up eventually. “Tomorrow’s Monday and you have to start your proper job in Bristol and I have to fly and...” Martin pauses. He gathers enough of his backbone to look back at Henry. This is important, Henry has to understand. “It’s just... I don’t live here, Henry. I can’t stay every night.” 

Henry looks stricken. His mouth is lax and slightly open and his eyes are wide and shining. “You don’t want to stay?” Martin can nearly hear the unspoken _with me?_

He scrubs a hand through his unruly hair. “I just think it’s... practical if we keep it to weekends.”

“Practical?” Henry sounds heartbroken and Martin feels like an arse. 

“Henry... please.” He swallows past the lump in his throat. 

Henry is off the sofa and heading to the door at Martin’s gentle tone. “Then I guess you should go home.” He lifts his chin a bit higher and looks Martin directly in the eye. 

Martin slips on his shoes and picks up his keys from the coffee table on the way to the door. He pauses in front of Henry. “I’m sorry... I just think it’s better if we have... boundaries.” Martin knows how foolish it sounds as soon as he says it. He doesn’t want boundaries between him and Henry. He wants Henry there for everything, wants him to know everything. Martin knows, because he read a book about it when he and Henry first started dating, that boundaries are healthy in relationships but this doesn’t feel healthy. It feels absolutely terrible. Henry simply nods as Martin walks out the door. 

The walk home feels a lot longer than the ten minutes between their two flats. Martin rubs his keys between his fingers. He goes back and forth between the old and scuffed gold key that opens his flat and the brand new silver key for Henry’s. That could be his key, instead of the worn out one that grinds in the attic door. Martin doesn’t want to be alone anymore. Henry moving to Fitton was supposed to make things better, but so far it just feels worse. 

Martin texts Henry before he collapses on the sofa-bed, emotionally drained and very lonely. 

**To: Henry Knight**

**I’m sorry. I love you. Goodnight.**

Henry doesn’t respond, but Martin doesn’t really expect him to. 

***************

They don’t talk about it again. They each just slip back into their routines. Martin knows Henry’s feelings are still hurt but is afraid to bring it up again for fear of making the lingering ache an unbearable pain instead. 

Martin pushes himself, taking as many van jobs as he can and flying with MJN. He keeps his promise to see Henry every day he’s not kept out of Fitton by MJN’s schedule, even if that means just collapsing on the sofa while Henry makes dinner. He knows Douglas has noticed Martin’s growing exhaustion, but Douglas hasn’t brought it up. The lack of sarcastic commentary worries Martin more than the concerned looks Douglas occasionally throws his way. 

Martin doesn’t want to admit to himself that his plan of working harder to be able to afford moving in with Henry isn’t working. He’s exhausted, he sees Henry but doesn’t really spend much time with him, and he’s barely been able to put any extra aside. But admitting that, giving in, is saying he’ll never be able to live with Henry, never be able to totally be a part of Henry’s world. Martin will live in his dreadful attic, alone, forever. He can’t concede failure yet, not with the stakes so high. So he keeps pushing himself. 

They go on for weeks with Martin working too hard at both his jobs and Henry trying to adjust to Fitton and his new job, really his first actual job, without much support. It’s Henry that breaks first. 

He doesn’t get angry or frustrated, as Martin probably would. He doesn’t lash out or pick an unrelated fight. Instead, Henry’s quiet and resigned. 

“My office is having a get together. Just drinks after work on Friday in Bristol. They said to bring partners and the like. I guess you’ll probably be working though.” His voice sounds much more like the Henry Martin first met nearly a year ago and not the teasing, confident man Martin’s grown to know. It feels as if a rock sinks to the bottom of Martin’s stomach. 

“I’m not flying but I did take a big van job. We’ll be ending up closer to Bristol than Fitton so maybe I could meet you after? But I’ll need a shower before I can go out so I’ll have to go home first but then I could go to Bristol...” When Martin looks up from the fists clenched in his lap, Henry’s stepped into the kitchen and is washing plates. 

Martin stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching Henry do the washing up. ‘I do want to go, you know,” he says quietly. 

“I know. You have to work.” Henry’s voice is equally as quiet. 

Martin stands behind Henry, wrapping his arms around Henry’s waist and resting his head against the back of Henry’s neck. “I’m sorry. I have to work like this. I don’t want it to be all the time but I’m trying, really trying, to be able to be here. With you. For you.” 

Henry freezes, his back going stiff against Martin’s chest. “What? For me?” 

_Bollocks,_ Martin thinks. He hadn’t meant to tell Henry. He wanted to make sure he could do it, that he could save enough and work enough to be able to move in before Henry found out. More and more it feels like that’s never going to happen, that he’s not going to be able to make it, and admitting his failure to Henry feels worse. 

Martin swallows and pushes his face more firmly against Henry’s neck. “I wanted to save up enough more, take on enough work, to be able to afford to move in with you.” 

He hears the thunk of a plate hitting the bottom of the sink. Henry starts to turn and Martin drops his arms, taking a step back. Henry looks positively thunderous. In their months together, Martin doesn't think Henry's never been genuinely angry at him. They've had tiffs and Henry's definitely been annoyed with him, but Martin can tell this is different from Henry's irritation at Martin's habit of leaving unwashed mugs on the counter overnight. 

“You've been doing this, working like this, so you can move in here?”

In a pose reminiscent of childhood mischief gone wrong, Martin shoves his hands in his pockets and tucks his head down. “I wanted to be sure I could pull my own weight.”

“Christ Martin!” Henry's voice rises in pitch. “Did I ever ask you for money? Did I ever give you conditions for living with me?”

Martin's head shoots up and his hands come out of his pockets to wave ineffectually at Henry. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not. I can't just live somewhere without paying for it.”

“That's not what I'm saying.” Henry's voice is still higher than it should be but not losing some of its anger in favor of weariness. “You didn't even talk to me about it. You just jumped ahead and made the decision for both of us.”

The frustration and exhaustion that Martin's been pushing himself through finally cracks. “There was no other decision to make! I have to take removal jobs to make any money and I have to take as many as I can to have any hope of living anywhere but an attic bedsit.”

“It's not about the money! You didn't even talk to me. We could have worked something out, come up with some arrangement.”

“It is about the money. I need to be certain I can pay my half of the rent and utilities in order to commit to living with you.” It sounded so logical every time Martin had thought that statement to himself. His mission statement since Henry had first announced his plan to move to Fitton.

Henry's face turns red and his fists clench. “No, you don't! That's what I've been trying to tell you. It doesn't matter to me. I'm going to live here anyway so pay no rent or pay half or pay all of it, I don't care. You're hardly around and I thought maybe you didn't want me here. I thought you didn't want to spend time with me, or maybe want me at all.” Henry runs his hand through the short hair at the back of his skull. “I was thinking about giving up and going back to Dartmoor.”

Martin's stomach drops. “No, please, no. That's not what I want. I want to live with you. I've said that all along. I just need to be able to make sure that I can.”

Henry smacks his hand on the countertop. “You can! You can now! Why do you have to be so bloody proud?”

“Why do I have to be so bloody proud? Proud is all I have to be. I'm a 34 year old man who lives in a dreadful apartment on a terrible sofa-bed and who doesn't get paid to do his job. I'm a volunteer pilot and a professional mover. I can't even afford to move in with my very successful, rich, and not to mention ridiculously handsome boyfriend who I am so in love with that every day I can't spend with him feels like a fucking trial. I'm exhausted from trying and realizing that I'm never going to be able to afford a real life with him no matter how much I work.” Martin's eyes are glassy with tears and his breath comes in great gasps. “That's why I'm so bloody proud. Because if I don't stick to something... because if I give up... I just don't know what else to do.”

“We can work something out. You can pay what you pay for your attic now and I'll cover the rest, or you can chip in a smaller part or something. Just talk to me about it. Please,” Henry pleads but Martin is shaking his head before Henry even finishes speaking.

“I can't. I can't... I have to be able to support myself. I just have to, Henry.”

“I love you. I love what you do. But I don't want it to be like this forever.” Henry pauses to take a deep breath. “It can't be like this forever.”

Martin had been so sure he could do this. That he could make it all work so he could get what he wanted, what he needed with Henry. Even if it was possible, Martin can see the future stretched out in front of him. He'd work all the time. His time would be divided between MJN and Icarus Removals and there would be none left for Henry. The current argument would grow until Martin's lack of time and money would be the only thing left between them. Martin's inability to succeed, or even just get by, will be the death of them.

The obvious solution has been there for weeks. It's been lurking there, rearing up in the worst moments of anxiety, despite Martin's best efforts to ignore the niggling feeling buzzing at the back of his skull. Now, in the face of losing Henry, it doesn't horrify him as it did the first time it became a conscious thought and it doesn't fill him with dread as it has when it’s fought its way to the forefront of his thoughts since then. Now, it just feels like the only way he can keep Henry.

“I can leave MJN,” Martin blurts out, a rush of words on a wave of pent-up emotion. “I can leave MJN, and Icarus Removals, and start fresh. I'll find a proper job and within a few months I'll be able to afford to move in with you.”

Henry stares at him. He looks frustrated and a bit sad. That was not the reaction Martin expected. He thought Henry might kiss him, thank him, or at least not look like Martin had missed the entire fucking point.

“No. I don't want you to do that. You'll hate me if you do that.” Henry's voice has dropped back to a near conversational level. 

“I looked for other pilot’s positions. I did. But there’s nothing in Fitton or Bristol. I’d have to move to London or Cardiff and that’s worse. So leaving MJN’s the only way.” Martin’s cheeks are flushed red and sweat prickles the back of his neck. He has to make Henry understand. 

“But, you’re a pilot.” Henry sounds confused and weary. “You can’t leave MJN.” 

Henry's calm, direct refusal of the offer Martin had never thought he'd be able to make pushes Martin over the edge. “I don't know what else to do! Just... just tell me what you want me to do.” 

Martin means his last statement almost rhetorically. It's just an expression of his frustration that Henry doesn't understand that there's nothing else to be done. Leaving MJN is his last card, the only solution he has left to the problem of their different lifestyles. He has to change his to match Henry's, or at least as closely as he can, or he's going to lose him. Henry thinks Martin will hate him if Martin gives up being a pilot, but Martin knows it will be unbearable to live without Henry. Not just because he'll be alone again, and worse this time because he knows how good it can be, but because Henry will be out there in the world without him. He doesn't want stop being a pilot, or leave MJN, but he will if he has to. He flew for a while and that would have to be good enough.

Henry doesn't treat Martin's outburst as if it is rhetorical. He has an answer at the ready. “I want you to stop thinking of everything as yours versus mine instead of ours.”

“But it is yours and mine and not ours! We don't live together, we have very different lives, different jobs. It has to be separate.” Martin's head is pounding and Henry looks close to tears.

“Then marry me and it won't have to be yours and mine anymore. It can just be ours!” Henry's face goes immediately pale and his mouth stays gaping open as the words hang between them.

Martin stares at him, listening to the pounding of his own heart in his ears. _One, two, three_ beats and he's gone. Legs moving him through the front door and down the steps to the street in front of Henry's flat without conscious command to do so. 

His legs take him to a nearby park, his mind too preoccupied with _Then marry me..._ to pay much attention to where he ends up. 

This is what he wants. Marrying Henry has been the endgame on his long list of Things Martin Must Do since the first Saturday morning he woke up in Dartmoor with Henry kissing his shoulder and asking if he wanted two or three eggs for breakfast. But he’s so focused on how to bring them together, and keep them there, in the short term that the long term goal has fallen by the wayside a bit. Martin was totally blindsided by Henry’s outburst. He didn’t know Henry felt the same way, they’ve never talked about it. Did Henry decide where they were going on that same morning in Dartmoor? Did they daydream about their future while Martin made the tea and Henry cracked the eggs?

This is a problem. A problem that Martin has to solve to get them back on track. Martin’s not great at solving problems. His personal life has been so based on just surviving that the decisions have been simple. Professionally, Douglas almost always swoops in and comes up with a clever, and often questionable, solution to whatever potentially company-destroying issue they are facing. 

If Douglas were in his place, he’d have come up with a scheme to make enough money to support both Martin and Henry by now. Or he’d at least have Henry thinking he could support both of them while he came up with a way to actually do it, which of course he would. Eventually. But that’s not Martin. He doesn’t have the cunning or resources Douglas has. Though Douglas has also had more failed marriages than Martin’s had relationships, so maybe channeling Douglas right now isn’t the best idea.

He doesn’t have Douglas’s ability to talk himself out of problems, talking’s never been his strong suit anyway, but he does know that he loves Henry and that Henry loves him and that if he has to swallow his pride to keep Henry he’ll make himself do it. He’s in conscious control of his legs as he walks back to Henry’s flat. 

Martin pushes open the flat door. Henry hasn’t locked it and even though Martin has a key the unlocked door is a symbol. He is hopeful that it means Henry wanted him to come back. Martin doesn’t call out but he’s certain to make enough noise closing the door and toeing off his shoes that Henry can hear him coming. 

Henry’s curled in the corner of the sofa, hands wrapped the tea mug balanced on his drawn-up knees. His eyes are red rimmed when he looks at Martin. Henry doesn’t say anything as Martin pads quietly to the sofa and drops to his knees. 

Martin wraps a hand around Henry’s ankle, rubbing the bones just above the cuff of his sock. “I’m not saying no. I will never say no to that question. I’m just saying _not yet_.” 

Henry nods and hiccups, sounding a bit bubbly as he whispers, “Okay...okay...okay...” under his breath. Martin rests his head against Henry’s shin and closes his eyes, keeping the reassuring pressure of his fingers against Henry’s ankle. They stay in silence for a few moments, until Henry’s hand comes to rest in Martin’s hair. 

That act of acceptance, of Henry showing even a little bit that he wanted Martin there, opens the floodgates to Martin’s babbling. “I promise. I’ll find a way to make this work. I won’t be such a stubborn git anymore. I don’t want to fight again. I’ll --” 

Henry cuts him off with a tap to the top of the head. “I don’t want you to find a way alone. I want us to do it together. That’s what I was trying to say before. Just... just talk to me and we can work it all out.” 

Martin can’t look at Henry, so he keeps his face pressed against Henry’s shin bone. He nods his head, feeling the slight hair on Henry’s leg rub against his forehead. Martin feels Henry shift, dropping his legs so they frame Martin’s seat on the floor. Henry’s hand drops to his shoulder. He tugs Martin forward, urging him onto the sofa. 

They rearrange themselves so Henry’s back is leaning against Martin’s chest and their hands clasp together across Henry’s stomach. When they are settled, Henry speaks softly. “I didn’t mean to shock you with my stupid proposal.” 

Martin presses his lips against Henry’s temple in a lingering kiss. “It only shocked me because I thought I’d be the one to ask you.” 

“It’s your turn next time then.” He can hear the smile in Henry’s voice and the rock of apprehension sitting in the middle of his chest begins to turn to dust. He tucks Henry’s head under his chin, a novelty of their position since Henry is a tad taller than Martin. “I won’t say no either, you know. When you do ask.” 

Martin squeezes Henry’s hands. “I know.” 

“Good, I didn’t want you worry about that between now and then. I know how you get.” Henry’s teasing again and Martin’s relief spreads warmth through his gut. 

“I’m glad you know me so well,” Martin teases right back. 

They sit in silence until Martin feels himself nodding off. Henry feels it too. He presses back against Martin, bringing him back to consciousness. “It’s Tuesday.” 

“And I fly to Rome tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Will you stay?” 

“Yes. Always.” 

***************

Martin spends the next Saturday packing and loading his meager possessions into the back of his van. They get rid of all his furniture, except the bookshelf he and his dad made together when Martin was a teen, and everything else fits into a handful of boxes. The students insist on giving him a bottle of cheap red wine as a going away present. Martin gifts them his dishes and mugs for the communal kitchen. It’s nice to leave a piece of him in the house he called home for so long. Not nice enough to want to stay, but still reassuring. 

Martin makes pasta in their kitchen, they get drunk on the students’ really terrible wine, and make love on the living room floor. When they eventually stumble to bed, to _their_ bed, Martin’s CPL certificate is framed on the dresser next pictures of Henry’s friends, and his clothes take up the other side of the too-small wardrobe. There’s a rattle from the window on the other side of the room and Henry’s sleeping in his arms. It’s perfect. 


End file.
